The necromantic theories flooding Corvin’s mind gave rise to experintation. With a full spectrum of knowledge now embedded in his consciousness, he turned his attention toward death magic-not in the grand rituals of Elarith’s sanctum, but in the field, under open skies.
There were many ways to raise the dead.
The most basic form, commonly referred to as Shellbinds, involved animating a corpse with rudintary movent and low to no intellect. These were the typical walking husks, zombies, favorite of TV shows from his forr life. Slow and unsophisticated.
Next ca Fleshbound, where reinforcent runes and soul fragnts preserved partial instincts. These creatures could follow simple orders and perform tasks such as guard duty or pathfinding.
Then ca Hollowbinds, involving intelligent remnants or tethered mories, producing fast, efficient undead scouts, hunters, and assassins.
And finally, there were the Covenant Bound, a rare class involving symbiosis between caster and subject, allowing for full sensory relay and real ti awareness. That was what Corvin sought.
He needed awareness.
For that, he needed eyes, sensors.
He moved quietly beneath the canopy of Umbraveyn’s twilight forest, scouting for suitable avians. Ravens were ideal, clever, resourceful, easy to control. But he also noted several unique Verthalan species:
Glasswings: Thin feathered, pale birds whose translucent wings shimred under mana fields. Known for incredible sensitivity to mana and hearing.
Ashquills: Sleek bodied scavenger birds with naturally stealthy flight patterns, often nesting in the high canopy. Known for their exceptional motion tracking and mid range thermal sensitivity.
Duskshrikes: Smaller cousins of the night hawk, capable of low altitude silent flight. Excellent night vision.
He spotted a flock overhead, around a dozen in total, gliding from tree to tree.
He extended his hand upward. No words. Just a slight tilt of the wrist.
Invisible threads of Telekinesis flared out. The flock seized midair. One by one, the birds’ necks twisted in silence. It was clean, fast and clinical.
He descended upon the forest floor and arranged the birds in a semicircle. Draw the runes on the ground. No blood. No ss.
He knelt.
Mana gathered in his palms, flowing down his fingers in threads of pale green. He wove them slowly, creating a sigils in the air. This wasn’t brute force reanimation. This was surgical. A blend of Death, Psychic, and Healing magic.
One by one, their wings twitched. Beads of light blinked within their skulls, tiny soul runes pulsing in unison. His mana weaved into their optic nerves, cochlear spirals, and olfactory centers.
A tether connected each bird back to him.
He exhaled slowly.
One vision returned. Then another. The forest opened like a map around him. He could hear a rustle on the far ridge, sll the moss beneath wet bark, track three squirrel like rodents two trees away.
He stood, eyes closed, yet seeing ten perspectives at once. It took soti to get used to, migraine was the least of the symptoms for hours.
This was only the beginning.
And Corvin smiled.
He had just acquired a flock of sentient eyes, and hiding from him is going to be a lot harder from now on.
He spent the next few hours experinting with his new flock. To his surprise, the birds could be stored within his inventory. The space had expanded, tripled in fact ever since his upgrade to his space affinity. What had once fit the size of a stone cottage now rivaled the breadth of an estate.
He kept three birds out. One raven, one glasswing, and one duskshrike and stored the remaining seven. This trio would be his eyes, ears, and scouts for the region.
The feedback was intense.
Sight, sound, sll all at once, layered and overlapping. His brain strained under the flood of sensory data. Leaves rustled from three angles, the caws of distant crows folded into the night, and the musk of a burrowed fox clung to a patch of underbrush fifty ters away.
For the first hour, he staggered under the weight. But gradually, his necrotic conduits adapted. The pathways linking each avian to his consciousness wove together into a streamlined circuit.
His pets could fly in all directions, hear whispers from the canopy, and taste the wind. A s if there is a second nervous system stretched around him like a ghost limb.
--
While Corvin honed his death magicand played with his new pets, in the Weavehold Citadel, Archmagus Vaelorin stood before the Council of Six.
The chamber was quiet save for the soft hum of protective runes and the breathing of five of the most powerful minds in the Synod.
"His results in Nefrath speak for themselves," Vaelorin said calmly. "Korvath’s Vanguard was obliterated, and the stability of that region leans in our favor. May the Dark Mother be pleased."
Planarch Drelis tilted her head. "And the affinity scan?"
Vaelorin’s jaw tightened. "He refused."
A murmur rippled through the council.
Archmagus Selavor frowned. "And you allowed this?"
"In exchange for his Space affinity," Vaelorin said, "I offered him entry to the Umbraxis Arcanum. He accepted, and asured it."
"Which was?" asked Planarch Rethon.
"B," Vaelorin replied. "His control was... refined. Beyond anything we expected."
Archmagus Lyrien leaned forward. "What of his known elents? Lightning? Psychic?"
"Lightning is confird at S level. The rest still inferred," Vaelorin admitted. "But from his performance alone, we can safely assu he operates at near elite levels on Dark and Psychic magic."
Planarch Drelis’s eyes glinted. "His terms in the academy?"
"Two weeks of assignnt, two weeks of study."
"What should we choose as his next assignnt?"
Vaelorin turned to a scroll. "We have chosen four Jackal kin rcenaries in Savaryn. They’re responsible for sabotaging a water sources of a tribe near the southern border, claiming the act it in the na of their pack."
Selavor scoffed. "Primitive."
Lyrien’s tone turned cold. "But dangerous. Animals will be animals, doesn’t matter if they talk or not. Corvin is ideal."
Drelis nodded once. "Then let it be done."
--
Far away, Corvin felt the flock’s tether tighten. One bird hovered above a caravan. Another tracked a trail of blood in the underbrush.
His eyes never blinked. His smile never faded.
The world was beginning to feel wonderfully small.
And he had work to do.
Corvin returned to the Obsidian Gate as scheduled. Two Dark Elves in matte gray armor awaited him, both silent but alert. Without a word, they turned and began to lead him deeper into the carved tunnels that branched beneath the mountains like a buried spiderweb.
The Umbraxis Arcanum was nothing like the above ground institutions he had seen. It wasn’t a tower or a palace. It was an underground city of learning, built into a colossal cavern easily the size of a small valley, lit by softly glowing mana crystals embedded high into the dod ceiling. Dozens of natural and artificial tunnels fed into its edges like veins into a heart.
The academy itself was a structured compound, organized into four distinct wings:
The Ignispire, sculpted of red veined obsidian and surrounded by flickering elental flas, housed the students and instructors of the basic elents: Fire, Water, Earth, and Wind. The air around it always shifted with elental turbulence, a side effect of active training.
The VenomshadeBastion, forged from slate and bone tal gathered from the local fauna, stood quiet and ominous. Its aura pulsed with secondary elental energies. Poison, Ice, Acid, Lightning, and others. This was where Corvin’s escorts took him first.
The Umbracore Hall, jagged and crystalline, shimred with unstable resonance. Rare elents like Dark, Blood, Healing, Plant, and Psychic were practiced within its many deep halls.
The Aetherreach Spire, closest to the heart of the complex, floated partially above a massive glyphic basin. It shimred with the presence of Arcane elents. Space, Ti, Gravity, and Aether. Arcane researchers moved like ghosts within its shifting walls.
Corvin was introduced to three instructors during the first tour. Each of them a master in their respective elent. They gave formal nods, their eyes sharp with professional curiosity. Corvin returned each gesture with a slow, pleasant smile.
They were all his now.
He trailed his spores across them with the delicacy of a painter layering varnish. One, two, three. Until five had been planted among instructors and advanced students alike. No one noticed. No one could.
His thoughts flickered with satisfaction.
Two weeks of structured study, two weeks of sanctioned killing. An elegant rhythm.
He didn’t need chaos to flourish. Structure gave him space to prepare, to plan. Every conversation was an opportunity. Every affinity lesson a chance to confirm, challenge, or override the fundantals he had absorbed. Every instructor was a potential harvest.
This place... it’s perfect, he thought.
Another master approached, this one wrapped in Aetheric threads, her robes softly humming. Her voice was polite but asured as she welcod him to the arcane wing. Corvin studied the runes woven into her sleeves and affixed the first spore to the base of her neck as she turned.
He almost laughed.
The Umbraxis Arcanum was not just a school.
It was a farm.
And the harvest was just beginning.
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